Oh, Susanna
by WastelandRose
Summary: She's going to drive him mad, he's sure of it. That's, of course, assuming she hasn't actually succeeded in doing so already, and he doesn't know if he's entirely sure she hasn't... Sort of a songfic, but not really. SiriusOC


this is what happens when im awake at two in the morning because i have THE most fucking annoying song ever stuck in my head.

xXx

She's going to drive him mad, he's sure of it. That's, of course, assuming she hasn't actually succeeded in doing so already, and he doesn't know if he's entirely sure she hasn't.

She's just so. damn. _annoying._ She bites her fingernails, and chomps her gum, and always writes in hard-to-read neon green ink, and the whistling! Oh, Merlin, _the whistling!_ The whistling alone is enough to make him want to kill himself!

It's constant, and shrill, and _always the same fucking song!_ He hears it everywhere he goes, because everywhere he goes, she's there, and she's always whistling. That happy melody of hers has been stuck in his head for weeks now, and, consequently, so has she.

He glares down the table at her, and he is completely baffled. She is managing to eat _while whistling!_ He looks past the fact that her choice of food is utterly disgusting, some kind of lumpy, pale green paste smeared onto bread and covered with salt and pepper, because he doesn't need anything else to be angry at her for.

She whistles a few bars, flecks of dry toast crumbs flying off her pursed lips, those full lips that always seem to be the perfect shade of pink. Then the whistling finally stops as she takes a bite, and that mysterious green goo obscures his vision of those lips. He scowls, and looks away.

He shouldn't be thinking of how great her lips are, not when she's been driving him insane for weeks with the sounds she makes with them.

"OY! PADFOOT! You still with us, mate?" The voice of his best friend finally snaps him out of it, and he turns sharply to meet James Potter's large, knowing smirk.

"Huh?" He inquires dumbly. All his friends snicker into their lunches. "That's, what," James asks with a chuckle, "The millionth, or so time we've caught you staring in the last week alone?"

"Thirty-seventh, actually," Remus Lupin comments with a distracted, yet still somehow mocking tone as he meticulously cuts the crusts off his sandwich.

"Ya, whatever," James laughs before turning back to Sirius, "What's the deal, mate? Never known you to be shy one, if you fancy her, just go over and lay on some of that legendary Black charm."

"I do _NOT_ fancy her!" He gasps, outraged that anyone could possibly think such a thing. It's utterly, utterly _absurd!_

"So why've ya been staring so much?" Peter asks with a smirk. Sirius glares that smirk off his little friend's face before answering, "Because, I've been trying to figure out what the hell that green shite she's eating is."

"Avocado on toast," Remus reports instantly, just before taking a bite of his sandwich. He chews thoroughly, and swallows completely before continuing, "And that still doesn't explain why you watch her in class, or in the common room, or when you're supposed to be listen to Prongs during quidditch practice."

"YA!" James shouts with his mouth full, spewing crumbs across the table at Remus, who cringes, glares, and goes back to his book, "And you're still doing laps for that, by the way!"

Sirius scowls, grumbling hotly, "She shouldn't have even been there in the first place! She's not on the team!" James goes all starry-eyed, "Don't care. She's friends with Evans, and any time she manages to drag my one true love along to watch me play, she's welcome."

With a grunt, Sirius goes back to his lunch, taunting, "Ya, it's just too bad the only thing you managed to do that impressed her was run yourself right into the goal post."

xXx

It's been a month, and Sirius can't remember the last time he got a full night's sleep. He lies awake in his bed with that song bouncing around his brain, and when he finally does manage to fall asleep after hours of trying, he has strange dreams.

Sometimes they're nightmares about giant monsters made of lumpy green mush, who chase him through dark places, whistling that ominously upbeat tune, trying to club him to death with dry toast. He always starts awake shaking, and in a cold sweat right before the blobs smother him, and he can never manage to fall back to sleep afterwards.

Other times, though, he has wonderful dreams about full, pursed, perfectly pink lips doing wicked things to his entire body. Those times, he's either woken by his own blissful moaning, or by the angry screams for him to shut the hell up, or thrown pillows directed at his head from his dorm mates. Even after wanking behind closed curtains, he's still been too bothered to go back to sleep.

It doesn't upset him at all when his grades begin to slip, he never cared much about them anyways. Even getting yelled at by James for slacking off in practice isn't so bad. But when he begins to notice his appearance suffering from the stress, and lack of sleep, he decides something has to be done.

After a lifetime of possessing perfect, baby-soft, blemish-free skin, he's gotten _two_ zits in the past week alone!

His legendary, entrancing, constantly swooned over gray eyes have been in a perpetual state of bloodshot-ness, and have dark circles beneath them!

And, of course, the straw that breaks the animagi's back, this morning, while he was performing his bi-weekly hair conditioning treatment, the one that gives his locks their trademark shine, body, and softness, he found it. _A gray hair!_

He is seventeen-years-old, he is _NOT_ supposed to have gray hairs, and it's _all her fucking fault!_

And he is going to do something about it.

xXx

He knows she's close, he can hear her. She's on prefect duty in the dungeons, alone, which he thinks is a bad idea considering what some of the more sadistic Slytherins will do to her if they catch her alone after hours with no one to scream to for help, but seeing as how her being by herself is essential to his plan for confronting her (so he doesn't make himself look like an arse, because he knows he's being insane about this whole thing), he's ok with it for now. He turns a corner, and suddenly she's there.

She's sitting on the floor, her long legs stretched and spread obscenely in front of herself as she reads a magazine and smokes. She's obviously slacking off on doing rounds, and violating school rules by smoking, to boot. As she blows smoke rings out those lips of hers, he finds himself wondering how in the hell she ever got made a prefect.

One long finger, topped with a nail that's chewed all the way down, turns a page, and she absentmindedly flicks the ash off the end of her cigarette as she goes back to whistling once again, reminding Sirius why he's there in the first place. Just as he's about to speak, the cheeky little blond opens her mouth, "Detention, Black. And thanks a fucking lot for being the first idiot I've had to give one to in three years. Never thought anyone would be stupid enough to actually seek me out, but I guess I was wrong, and now I don't get to graduate with that perfect record I held so near, and dear to my heart."

He's stunned. It wasn't supposed to go like this! He was going to confront her! Yell at her for her goddamned whistling! Demand she stop or else invoke his wrath upon her! But now, he can't seem to make himself form coherent sentences, threats or otherwise.

"But-" He begins, trying to salvage this, to do what he came here for. She, however, oblivious to the importance of his mission, turns her brown eyes on him as she cuts impatiently, "Just go back to the tower so I don't have to make it two."

Turning once again to the magazine, which he's just realized is a _porno_, she flips another page, takes another drag of her cigarette, and starts whistling, _again!_ He's insanely angry, and he wants this over with, but he can't think of what he should say.

Muttering curses under his breath, he turns and storms away, vowing on everything he holds dear that he will find a way to make the whistling stop, even if it kills him.

xXx

On Monday, he hits her with a _silencio_ just as she's coming down the staircase. The whistling is immediately gone, and he has about three seconds of blissful quiet before Evans starts yelling at him.

She saw him cast the spell, and makes him release her friend from it with a warning that if he ever does anything like it ever again he'll be in detention in until he graduates.

He sits through another entire day of whistling, and he thinks the tune is becoming permanently ingrained in his head.

That night, he dreams of the lips again, but this time they don't actually touch him. Blowing smoke over his body until he's writhing and moaning and falls out of his bed is way better.

He wanks to try to relax himself enough for sleep, but when he catches himself inadvertently humming her tune in the middle of it, he stops himself, and is disgusted, annoyed, and infuriated enough to just lie there hard, awake, and utterly confused for the rest of the night.

xXx

On Tuesday, he slips a TongueTie Taffy into her breakfast, and sets to watching her intently to make sure she eats it.

However, when she catches him staring, her gaze turns almost murderous. She picks up the bowl of spiked oatmeal, and marches right for him.

"Stop fucking staring at me, you creepy bastard!" And then there is oatmeal in his hair because she turned the bowl over on top of his head.

James is laughing on his left, Remus across from him, Peter next to him, and the rest of the hall is finding it pretty hilarious too for that matter. He very calmly leaves, and takes a shower.

When he's redoing his conditioning treatment, he finds another gray hair.

That night, he doesn't sleep at all, because he still smells like oatmeal, and can't figure out why he's hurt by the fact that she thinks he's a creepy bastard.

xXx

On Wednesday, he doesn't leave his dormitory because he figures that it's the only place he's safe from her. He's wrong.

Just a few minutes after the others finally give up on dragging him to class, just as he's finally slipping off to sleep, he hears it, that peppy little melody drifting in through his window.

For hours, he tries to ignore it, tells himself it's a figment of his imagination, but he just can't take it anymore, and finally goes to investigate.

Sure enough, she's there, stretched out in the long grass at the bottom of the tower. Maybe it's because it's such a hot day, or (more likely, he thinks) because she likes to torment him and make him miserable, she's stripped off most of her clothes. The whistling little bitch is down to a neon purple bra, an obscenely short red-plaid skirt, and (oh fuck) striped Gryffindor knee socks...

He must've made a noise, because all of a sudden her eyes snap open, and he only has a few seconds to appreciate that they're the same shade of brown being in the sun has darkened the sparse freckles across the bridge of her nose to before he stumbles back into the safety of his dorm, and slams the window shut.

With the window shut, it's too hot to do anything but sweat, and swear vengeance upon that whistle.

xXx

On Thursday, he spends the entire day in the hospital wing because he is absolutely convinced that there is something _very_ wrong with him.

xXx

On Friday, the nurse, absolutely convinced he's fabricating an illness to avoid class, kicks him out just before lunch.

The second he steps outside the safety of those disinfected white walls, it's back. And he's sure it's even louder than it was before.

She stops when she sees him though, and he thinks he might cry from the happiness, but then she glares, and spits, "What the _hell_ do you think you're looking at!"

When he doesn't answer (because he doesn't know what the _hell_ to say), she grumbles, "Idiot," and promptly begins whistling once again. He stays only long enough to conclude that it's louder because of the echo in the hallway before he turns, and flees the opposite direction she was traveling.

He deliberately starts a fight with a Slytherin, and purposely doesn't put up his shield charm fast enough when the oaf jinxes him.

He spends the weekend in the hospital wing having the tentacles melted off his face, but figures it's a small price to pay because it's very quiet in there.

xXx

It's Monday again, and the very annoyed nurse releases him into the custody of James and Remus with instructions that they are to keep their 'insufferable prat of a friend' away from her, or else they're all going to be sent to see the Headmaster for wasting her time.

James and Remus are quite worried, he can tell, mostly because the second they're out of earshot of the hospital wing James asks, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," He replies grumpily. Lack of sleep, and another gray hair, and a giant zit on his forehead, and the sneaking suspicion that he's slowly losing his mind tends to do that to him.

"No, not nothing," Remus scolds, "You've been weird for weeks. What's going on?" How is he supposed to explain that he's at war with the catchy little ditty the weird blond prefect who reads porn and smokes while she's supposed to be doing rounds, who eats green mush on toast with salt and pepper, who always wears the neon colored underwear constantly whistles? They're going to laugh him off the continent!

But, right on cue, he hears it, and wants to scream and yank his hair out by the roots in frustration. He can't take it anymore! He is going to shut her up, and he is going to do it right now!

His friends are confused when he abruptly leaves them to chase down the offending whistle, but they follow him anyways. They're even more confused when he suddenly grabs the blond girl from Lily's side, making her drop her books as he pins her up against the wall and starts yelling incoherent nonsense about her being annoying, and out to get him, and trying to make him go insane just because she thinks its funny.

She glares silently, and waves off the attempts others are making to rush forward and save her from the lunatic. She looks him right in the eye, smirks, puts those beautiful lips together, and blows. That tune pours off them, and he does the only thing he can think of to make her shut up. He kisses her. Hard.

He sees her eyes go wide with surprise right before he shuts his, biting and sucking her lips as he licks the inside of her mouth, trying to suck that fucking song right out of her lungs. He's aware that he's probably bruising her mouth as their teeth smash together for the fourth or so time, but he doesn't care. Maybe they'll be too sore for her to whistle!

He isn't prepared for her to kiss him back, because that wasn't part of the plan. This was supposed to be about shutting her up, not about the way her tongue running just _so_ along the roof of his mouth shoots stabs of pleasure straight to his crotch, or about how her hands are in his hair and he doesn't even mind that they're messing it up because her fingers are doing amazing things to his scalp, or about how, when he loses it and presses his hips hard into her, she presses back and makes him groan and pin her harder up against the wall.

He gets dizzy, but holds out as long as he can before coming up for air. When he finally does, she's not whistling anymore, but he's forgotten all about that because her brown eyes are hooded and dark, because her blond hair is a mess, because her lips are swollen, and they're not that perfect pink anymore, but perfect red.

Her lips start moving, and he tenses up, because he's afraid she's going to jinx him, or, worse yet, start whistling again, but, instead, they form a circle and she gasps, "Oh..."

xXx

It's too fucking quiet, and he knows he shouldn't be here. Remus keeps telling him it's not healthy, and James, well, he hasn't really been able to talk to James since it happened, and he hates it, hates not being able to talk to his best friend because he resents his happiness so fucking much.

He's just hoping to hear it again, one more time. That whistle, her whistle. It's stuck in his head, and it's never going to leave, just like she is. Only, she's gone, and won't ever come back.

Once or twice, he's tried whistling the tune to himself. She told him the name of the little song, and taught him the lyrics a long time ago, told him how it was a song her daddy used to sing to her, how her daddy died when she was very small and she whistled the song to keep his memory close.

It wasn't the same though. It wasn't her, and it didn't help. If anything, it made things worse, because it just made him ache to hear her even more.

He forces himself not to cry as he reads her headstone for the millionth time since he had it made for her, and he'd give anything to hear her just one last time because he knows he's going to go mad without her whistle...

_Susanna Marie Bishop_

_1964 - 1985_

_Don't you cry for me._


End file.
